


Everything Went In For Us Tonight

by abstractconcept



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Avs, Bondage, Colorado Avalanche, Frottage, Gangbang, M/M, NHL RPF, Oral, Orgy, PWP without Porn, Praise Kink, Spitroasting, blindfold, hockey rpf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avs celebrate with a team orgy after winning the Stanley Cup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Went In For Us Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> For trope bingo square “future fic,” with thanks to DefinitionofaRoadGame who prompted this with, “…umm, I think it's pretty obvious that the "future fic" needs to be them winning Stanley and the whole team getting a go...... just saying...” 
> 
> And with this, I made bingo! :D
> 
> Also, yeah, kind of devastated Dutchy will be out four weeks. :( What a crummy freak accident! Here’s hoping the team can hang in there without him. I will have to switch all my loving vibes to Landy for awhile and hope that our gallant captain can continue to carry the team. 
> 
> This can also be read as a sequel to, “How to Avoid Icing.”

****

Everything Went In For Us Tonight

“It was great. It was just so great,” Matt said into the microphone. “You know, some nights are like that. We had some good chances, a little luck, and uh, you know, a lot of ’em just seemed to go in.”

“Good night to have that happen, right?”

“ _Great_ night to have that happen,” Matt agreed with a giddy chuckle. “Of all the nights you want luck on your side . . .” He wiped a trickle of sweat from his cheek with the back of his hand. He was sticky and smelly and exhausted—and absolutely over the moon. 

“You made some big moves out there tonight. Can you tell us about that moment in the second period when you slipped out of that big check from Chara?”

Matt grinned. “Yeah, that was—uh, I just gave it a little extra speed and took a quick spin there, yeah, and, uh, yeah, so he missed me and I was able to drop it back for O’Reilly, and he made, you know, a real nice play there. So that was nice.”

“Is this a moment you’ll never forget?”

“Absolutely. I mean, yeah, this is what you play for, it’s what you work for all year long, all your life, really, so this is something really special.” Matt was beaming. It was going on midnight, but he felt like he could do this forever.

“Thank you, Matt,” the reporter said. 

“Yeah. Thanks, Adrian.” Matt glanced around. The locker room was finally starting to empty out a little bit, even though most celebrations would go on all night. After all, how often do you win a Stanley Cup? He spotted Patrick chatting with Gabe, and the man waved him over. 

“Go and get dressed,” the man said. “Let’s go.”

Matt was distressed. He didn’t want to leave his teammates—he wanted to revel in the high. “You wanna leave now?” He didn’t mean to, but he sounded whiny. 

Patrick winked at him. “I got somethin’ I wanna do.”

Matt looked around the room one last time, but the place had started to empty out, a lot of the guys going on to celebrate elsewhere. “Okay, I guess, but I’m not tired,” he said. “I mean it, tonight was so great.” He couldn’t help but smile as the game came flooding back to him. “Did you see when Cody went and _levelled_ —”

“ _Yes_ , yes, it was a nice hip check, now get changed already,” Patrick told him, exasperated. He rolled his eyes at Gabe. “I am going to have to tie him to the bed if I want to get any sleep tonight.”

Gabe, who’d been looking like he was running out of steam, perked up at this. “That sounds like fun,” he said, arching an eyebrow at Dutchy.

Face warm, Matt shot him a warning look. Just because they’d fooled around _once_ didn’t mean that he had to spread it all over the locker room. 

Gabe ignored him, grinning at Patrick. “You _did_ make certain promises,” he pointed out. 

“Yes, yes, I keep them,” Patrick said, waving a hand as if this were inconsequential, but his smile was waggish.

“What promises?” Matt asked suspiciously. 

“Will you please go get _changed_ already?” Patrick snapped. He grumbled something in French, and Matt gave up and hurried to change. He didn’t want to put Patrick in a bad mood—not tonight, of all nights. He wanted to go out and really party. A quick shower left him feeling refreshed, his hair damp but his spirits high. 

But then Patrick drove them _home_ , Matt spluttering protests all the way. “But we had such a good _night_ ,” he complained. “I want to _celebrate!_ I mean, I worked really hard. Did you see me chip the puck past Boychuck after he had me pinned in the—”

“ _Yes_ , Dutchy, I see it. Believe it or not, I was there at that game,” Patrick told him, sounding amused, as they pulled into the driveway. 

“I just don’t want to go home, yet. Everyone else is out living it up. I wanna let loose. I think I deserve it. Let’s call up some of the guys, find out where they are.”

Patrick put the truck in park and reached out to pat Matt’s face. “I promise you, we keep celebrating tonight.”

Matt sighed. He wasn’t averse to the idea of sex, but it was such a special night, and he had really been enjoying the connection he’d been having with the rest of the team. And he was just so keyed up. 

He kept thinking about the night, the plays he’d made, the goals they’d scored, the tense moments when the game wasn’t going their way. He couldn’t help chattering about it, reliving it play by play. “God, Factor’s goal in the first,” he said. “Wasn’t that a great goal? Wasn’t that the prettiest goal you ever saw?” Matt jumped out of the truck and followed Patrick up the walk. “And when Bergeron put that hit on Cliche. You know, I was really worried about him for a second. He looked like he was down for the count. But that really put a fire in us, you know? We really stepped it up. I think we showed a lot of perseverance and maturity. We showed everyone—we have what it takes to succeed in this league.” He jiggled his foot as he waited for the man to unlock the door. “I mean, you think you know what to expect, but you don’t. That was better than I ever imagined. God, that was the greatest.”

“We need to work off some of that energy,” Patrick commented, eyeing him.  
Patrick opened the door. He led the way upstairs as Matty grew increasingly agitated. There was no way he was staying in tonight. Matt couldn’t _possibly_ sleep now, after all that. “Come on, up the stair.” Well, shit. Maybe they could go out _after_ sex.

But when Patrick opened the bedroom door, Matt was shocked to see his teammates. 

“Surprise!” Talbot said, and the rest of the guys followed suit. They were all smiling, and a lot of them had glasses of champagne. 

Matt grinned. A party! He could live with a party. He beamed at Patrick. “Oh, wow! Is the whole team here?”

Patrick cleared his throat. “Well, no, just the ones who wanted the extra treat.” 

Matt looked at him in surprise. “Oh. Great. What’s the extra treat?”

Patrick gave him a devilsh wink. “ _You_ are the extra treat.”

Matt blinked and slowly surveyed the room. The guys were all standing around the bedroom or sitting back in chairs or even lolling on the bed, smirking at him. “What do you . . . oh.” Comprehension dropped on Matt all at once like a ton of bricks and he felt heat flood his face. Matt could feel all his mental gears grind to a halt, then begin ticking over again in an entirely new direction. 

They had actually talked about this, but Matt hadn’t thought Patrick was serious. It was just bedroom talk, something Patrick said to get Matt hot. Or so Matt had thought at the time, anyway. He rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet the eyes of the rest of the guys. Seriously? Patrick had arranged an orgy? Holy shit. 

“Maybe you better sit down,” Patrick suggested. “I’ll get the stuff.” 

“I’ll break out another bottle of champagne,” Talbot added, and this announcement was met with enthusiastic approval. Matt saw there was a bucket of ice with several bottles on the nightstand. Well, that was probably a good way to start things.

Matt sank onto the bed. Did the guys really want—did they really come here for—? Matt couldn’t even complete the thought. 

He glanced around the room. “Um, is Nate here?” he asked quietly. He was pretty sure Nate wouldn’t be interested in a team orgy. Besides, he was just a kid. Hell, yesterday they all went out for breakfast and something McGinn said made Nate laugh so hard that orange juice came out his nose. There was no way he’d be up for something like this.

Someone patted his head tentatively, almost like a helmet tap after a good game, and he glanced over to find Varly sitting next to him. 

“Don’t worry. Jiggy took Naydinn out. Naydinn parents in town,” Varly explained in his soft, almost shy accent that contrasted so much with the fierce look he gave opponents from behind his goalie mask. “We sent him on errand. They take cup . . . to get cheese.”

Matt blinked. “Cheese?”

Varly laughed. “McGinn say he want to eat nachos out of Stanley Cup.”

For a moment, Matt was horrified. They couldn’t debase the cup that way! But then a moment later it hit him—that was the point of having the cup. It was the culmination of the team’s dreams, all of them. That was why they all pulled together, so they could be proud together and celebrate together and even get silly together, and remember how each of them had made sacrifices and contributions to get there. And it was about each of them, individually, getting to celebrate their way, because of what they’d done together. And what was more Jamie McGinn than eating nachos out of the Stanley Cup?

Matt sighed and shook his head. He looked at Varly. This was the team’s win, and they would celebrate together. With an orgy, apparently. “Do you really want to do this?” he asked. 

“Yes.”

Matt trusted Varly and knew the guy was tough as nails, but sitting there beside Matt and staring at him with wide blue eyes, using his broken English, he seemed almost naïve or—or childlike or something. Matt wondered who had told him about tonight and whether something had been lost in translation.

“Um, are you sure? Who, uh . . . who invited you?”

Varly looked confused and a little hurt. “You don’t want me?”

“No, uh, that’s not it. I was just wondering how this whole thing got started. This really took me by surprise.”

Varly’s face lit up. “Yes! We want to surprise you. We make plan and keep secrets.”

“Whose idea was it?”

Varly shrugged. “Patrick, I think, or maybe Gabe.”

“Which one of them told you?” Did Varly really know what Patrick wanted to do tonight? And how had he pitched it? As a ‘team building experience?’

“Mmmm, well . . .” Varly thought for a couple of moments. “It was Patrick approach me about it.”

“What did he say?”

Varly blinked. “He say, ‘Hey, if he want it, you want to fuck Dutchy after the game?’ Like that,” Varlamov explained very candidly. 

“Oh. I . . . okay.” Matt swallowed and looked down, toying with a loose thread on the bedspread and trying to take this information in. Wow, no way of misinterpreting _that_ , at least. And obviously Varly was into the idea, or he wouldn’t be here.

“He say it will be fun way for team to let off steam after big game.” Matt looked up, jaw dropping. Now Varlamov brightened as he warmed to divulging the whole conversation. “He say we can take turn on you. He say you would like that—it would be a special treat for you. He say you are very good in bed, very sexy.”

Matt’s face was beginning to heat up again. “Oh, uh, really?”

“He say you have sweet ass, we all enjoy it very much.” Varlamov was grinning now, and Matt realized he was enjoying this—teasing Matt and making him blush. “He say you like everything, you are slut that way. He say we do anything, put it in your mouth, piss on your face—you love everything, he say.”

Matt’s unease grew into something like panic until he saw the sly look in Varly’s eyes and the way he was biting back a smile. “Oh, my god. You are _not_ funny,” he admonished. “You asshole, you really freaked me out.”

Varly dissolved into giggles. “I trick you. You really think that, huh? You take it serious.” He snorted and punched Matt’s arm in an affectionate way. “You look nice when you . . . pink,” he groped for the correct word in English. “When you blush pink! Is nice on you,” he teased, arching an eyebrow. “Right, Gabe?”

Matt’s head snapped up and he realized Gabe was sitting across from him in one of the bedroom chairs, watching the whole encounter with undisguised glee. “Yup,” he said, and winked at Matt. 

Gabe had been invited to join Patrick and him once before, and for some reason Matt felt like this put Matt at some kind of disadvantage. He guessed it was his competitive nature—Gabe really seemed to bring out that side of him. Matt groaned and covered his red face with his hands. Gabe just loved it when he blushed. He seemed to think he scored a point every time Matt’s face reddened. 

“This,” Gabe announced, “is going to be fun.” He was lounging in the green chair like a big cat, one leg crossed over the other, his expression smug. 

“Okay. Look what I got,” Patrick said, suddenly in front of Matt. Matt could see his arms were full with stuff like lube, condoms, a blindfold, cuffs and cords. “Everything we need for a good time.” 

Aware that he was suddenly the focus of everyone’s attention again, Matt let out a shaky breath, ducking his head. 

Patrick sensed his discomfort, and got down on one knee and lowered his voice. “I thought that this would be good for you, because you get overwhelm when you have too many choice,” he pointed out. “We got lots of people and I figure this is a good way. You need something different?”

Matt laughed breathlessly. Tied to the bed, unable to see who was doing him? Just letting go, letting it happen, not overthinking things? Dream come true. If Patrick had tailored a scenario to his kinkiest fantasy he couldn’t have done a better job—though thinking about it, he’d probably done just that. The coach had a way of getting inside his head, finding out what he wanted, and giving it to him wrapped in a big, red bow. He was the most spoiled player in the league. “It isn’t that,” he murmured. 

“Then what’s up?”

Matt shrugged awkwardly. “Do they really _want_ this?” he asked in an undertone. “Like, _me?_ ” He just couldn’t believe it. Sure, he was a good player, but he wasn’t even one of the better looking guys on the team. He felt like Patrick just had to have manipulated them somehow, to get _so many guys_ to do this. 

Patrick snorted and stood up. “Who wants to fuck Dutchy first?” he said in a loud voice that seemed designed to embarrass his boyfriend.

“Me!” Jamie McGinn shouted enthusiastically. 

“No, no, no, I go first,” Max put in. 

“Hey, no fair. I’m the one who got the game winning goal,” Holden pointed out. “That should count for something.” He planted his hands on his hips. 

“No way; I don’t want your sloppy seconds,” Pauly said, nudging Holden in the ribs with an elbow. All the guys were offering, very enthusiastically, to fuck Matty Duchene—fighting over him, even. “Obviously I’m the one who goes first.”

Face burning, Matt looked around at teammates sheepishly. He felt flattered and sort of powerful to have them all looking at him like that. 

“Well, I think we got to let Dutchy choose,” Patrick finally said. “What you think?”

That sounded good to Matt. He didn’t mind giving up control to Patrick—or to the team, for that matter—but he liked the idea of picking a guy to go first. It felt like handing out some sort of award or something, giving one guy something kind of special. 

He weighed his options; there was Gabe, handsome and, after all, their captain. Matt knew he wouldn’t be too rough and he’d keep the other guys in line. On the other hand, ugh, Gabe would be smug about it. Then there was Pauly, a great friend and someone Matt trusted. Nick Holden and Tyson Barrie were both kind of hot, and E.J. knew how to make Matt laugh, even if he wasn’t exactly Matt’s idea of attractive. And he and Ryan always made magic on the ice—if that translated to their sex life, they’d be fucking amazing together. Hell, the whole team had pretty good chemistry. Matt looked up at Patrick questioningly; Patrick always had dibs. But Patrick just gave him a slight headshake. When it came to matters of the team, he always preferred to take a back seat. And Matt knew he was going to enjoy watching, too.

Suddenly, Matt got an idea: he knew exactly how he wanted this to happen. 

“Varly goes first,” he declared. 

Pauly gave an affronted squawk of protest, but Matt wasn’t changing his mind. 

“Nope. Sorry. He was our rock. He brought us all the way—we couldn’t have won if we wasn’t as incredible as he was. We had to rely on him and trust him, and he didn’t let us down. He had our backs all season and now,” Matt said with a grin, “he can have mine.”

The rest of the team must have agreed, because they began to applaud, which was pretty embarrassing. On the other hand, it was making Varly turn red, too, and Matt was glad that for once he wasn’t the only one. Someone even let out a whistle.

“Jeez, you guys,” the goalie complained, ducking his head. “Okay, okay, I do it.” He grinned at Matt. “Okay, so . . . make Dutchy naked, then.” He waved an imperious hand like he wanted the guys to unwrap his candy for him. 

Pauly saluted and looked stern. “We’re on it,” he said, and before Matt knew what was happening he had several guys pinning him to the bed and unbuttoning his clothes while he laughed, squirming. He was pretty sure Pauly was going out of his way to get Matt in all the places he knew to be ticklish as he undressed him. 

“Pauly! Knock it off! Stop that,” he spluttered, snickering. 

Pauly gave him his widest, most devilsh smile. “Who, me? What am I doing?” he skittered a finger along Matt’s ribs. “It’s not my fault you’re so sensitive. I mean, I’m barely touching you.” Matt was snorting, and contorting himself, trying to get away from Pauly’s impish fingertips. 

“Hey, he say I go first,” Varly said crossly. “Don’t be . . . don’t be all hands on him.”

“Handsy?” Pauly laughed. “Am I getting too handsy with your man?” 

Varly was blushing, but didn’t back down. “ _Yes_ ,” he said in a very definite voice, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Uh-oh, looks like Varly’s turning into a diva just ‘cuz Matty likes him best.” Stastny backed off all the same, sitting back on his haunches. “All right, he’s all yours.”

Matt was nude now, except for his underwear, but all the laughter had set him at ease, put him back to feeling comfortable with the guys. He was sprawled out on his back with Varly kneeling near his head. He looked at him, upside-down, and grinned. “So how do you wanna do this?”

The goaltender narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, giving him a rather intimidating expression. “Hands and knees,” he decided. 

Obediently Matt rolled over. Up on his hands and knees he began to feel flustered again, aware that all eyes were on him, an excited murmur running through the group. O’Reilly even let out a catcall. Matt searched out Patrick in the crowd—a crowd! In his bedroom! All wanting him, no less. As usual, Patrick seemed to understand right away. “Time for the blindfold?” he asked. 

“Sure, why not?” Matty replied. He liked that he sounded a lot more loose and casual than he was feeling. As the dark silk slipped over his head he felt instantly better. He wasn’t sure why—it wasn’t as though they couldn’t see him just because he couldn’t see them, and it was the fact that he was at the center of so much attention that made him self-conscious, wasn’t it? Either way, with the blindfold down he felt better, more able to focus on enjoying things. 

The bed shifted as Varly moved around him, the guys encouraging him all the way. Matt’s underwear was pulled down—to wolf whistles, which made him laugh and blush harder than ever—and Varly gently worked them down his legs and off. There was a zipping noise—or unzipping, Matt guessed—and the room was suddenly a lot quieter, a lot tenser. He waited, patient and quiet, until a warm, slick finger breached him to a chorus of moans. 

His self-consciousness fizzled away in the face of this proof that everyone else was just as horny as he was. Somehow that took some sort of burden off, like they weren’t there just to make him happy. He let out a long, shaky breath as Varlamov stretched him, deliberately taking his time, adding fingers and questing for Matty’s prostate. By the time he found it, Matty was a writhing, moaning mess. “Please,” he rasped as Varly stroked his prostate. “Oh, God, please.”

Varly gave a hum of pleasure, but someone else groaned in frustration. “Will you just hurry up and fuck the kid, already?”

“No kidding,” someone else moaned. 

Varly would not be hurried. “A goalie always need patience,” he said, rather smugly, all things considered.

“Yeah, well, I’m just a goddamn left wing,” Matt heard Ginner quip. “And my motto is hurry up and get a point on the scoreboard already.” 

Matt felt Varly shift his weight and remove his fingers. He braced himself just as the man breached him, thrusting him forward. “Okay?” the man asked, concerned. 

Matt had to grin. Sometimes he _needed_ rough and when that happened, Patrick gave him a lot rougher than this. But it was nice that Varlamov wanted to be sure. He was pretty sure Patrick would approve of the ‘good communication between teammates,’ such as it was. “It’s fine,” he said. 

Varly began to fuck him in earnest, then, and Matt braced himself on his forearms. It was good—not like Patrick, but good. “Oh, God, that’s so fucking hot,” someone breathed. 

“Someone can take his mouth,” Varly suggested. Matt nodded hard at this, drawing a few chuckles. He felt someone take his chin and he obligingly opened his mouth. He didn’t even know who it was. Somehow the anonymity only made it better; he moaned softly as he felt the thick cock slip into his waiting mouth. 

“Shit, that’s good. That’s nice.” Whoever it was stroked his hair once before cupping his face with their hands, thrusting in and out of his mouth. He could feel both of Varly’s hands on his hips as the goaltender found a rhythm. All around Matt could hear sighs and moans and pants being pulled down. He heard wet sounds and realized a couple of the guys were kissing, open-mouthed. The thought sent an electric shock down his back, his cock aching. 

“You look good, Dutchy,” Patrick observed, and Matt moaned. He loved nothing in the world so much as performing for Patrick. He hoped the man was even half as turned on as he was. 

Whoever was face-fucking him whimpered at his moan, his thrusts speeding up. Matt felt a wicked thrill of pleasure at getting someone hot like that, so he hummed again and again, sucking hard, and suddenly the man stilled, then drew back sharply. Matt felt hot come patter over his blindfold and cheek. “That was fast,” he said smugly, and got slapped in the face by a cock for his trouble. He couldn’t help smirking, though, even as the man pressed his cock to Matty’s cheek until he’d finished climaxing. 

“Next,” the guy announced contentedly, and moved away. Someone else promptly took his place and Matty found his mouth full of fat cock again. 

Then things began to move quickly; Varly finished up and someone new mounted him, and someone took Matt’s hand and lifted it, pushing their crotch against his palm. Everyone was moaning, sighing, telling Matty he was a good fuck and a good boy. He was so turned on he could barely stand it, thrusting back against whoever was fucking him, eager for more.

“Let’s put him on his back,” Patrick suggested. 

Strong hands turned Matty over, pulled him up the bed. Someone held one arm and fastened a leather cuff to it, then pulled a cord through that. Tension built in Matt’s belly as he was lashed to the bed, arms fastened to the headboard. He was breathing heavily now. He dragged a tongue over his front teeth, impatiently waiting for more.

Someone carded a hand gently through his hair. “Doin’ okay, Dutchy?” Gabe asked. 

“It’s good.” He couldn’t find words for how much this turned him on, how the less control he had the more he felt like he could let go and just let himself be fucked. Patrick got it, but he didn’t think Gabe would understand. 

But Gabe, being all captainy and up in other people’s business, just had to make sure. “You _sure_ it’s good?” 

Matt had to roll his eyes. Gabriel “Goody Two-Shoes” Landeskog. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Gabe must have sensed Matty’s annoyance, because he doubled-down and said in a sing-song, “I dunno-o. Gotta make sure it’s all con-sen-sual, and that you really li-ike it.” Matt could hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Gabe Landeskog, you prick, stop fucking around.”

“An attitude like that and nobody’s gonna want to go to bed with you,” Gabe told him with a laugh. “If you’re gonna get mouthy, maybe I should make you beg first.”

“Shut up, Landeskog,” Matty grunted. Someone tweaked his nipple, and he gasped. 

“Better be nice to me. I’m the captain,” Gabe warned. He ran a leisurely hand down Matty’s torso, and Matty bit back a groan. “You gonna be nice?” Gabe murmured. He traced a finger down Matt’s treasure trail, pressing his palm against Matt’s needy prick. 

“Mmph. I’ll be nice,” Dutchy grunted. 

Gabe sounded way too smug. “Gonna be a good boy?” Matt felt Gabe’s lips press a kiss to the underside of his cock, and he bit his lip hard. “Hmm?” With his free hand, Gabe reached down and fondled Matty’s balls. A wet, warm tongue lashed against the head of his prick.

“I’ll be good,” Matt groaned as Gabe sucked him. 

Gabe pulled away, all that wonderful wet suction suddenly withheld. “Promise?”

At this point, Matt would have promised nearly anything, he was so far gone. “Yes,” he panted. “I’ll be good. I swear. I’ll be so good. Please.”

“Yeah?” Gabe’s voice was husky. He gave Matt’s penis another long, slow lick.

“Yes, Gabe, _please_.”

“Holy fuck he sounds hot when he’s desperate,” E.J. noted. Distantly, Matt thought that he sounded sort of desperate himself.

Talbot muttered something in French that sounded like a prayer. 

“You can say that again,” Patrick agreed. 

Gabe began sucking him again and Matty moaned, writhing, straining against the restraints. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned. He felt hands touching him, stroking his chest and stomach and even his shoulders. He was almost overcome by sensation, unable to do anything but squirm and let out incoherent noises of pleasure. 

“That’s nice,” someone breathed. 

Finally Gabe drew away. “Who’s ready to fuck him next?”

Someone lifted his hips and slipped a pillow under him, and the next thing Matty knew he was being stretched to capacity. He’d never taken anyone that big before. He hissed a little as his unknown teammate patiently lubed him and tried again, slowly sheathing himself in Matt’s ass. 

“Holy fuck,” Matt gasped. 

Someone touched his face. “Okay, Dutchy?” Matt nodded. The man began to fuck him, slowly, then faster as Matt adjusted to the girth. Soon he was whimpering, but not in pain. 

Someone dragged a hand through his hair, tugging his head back, and Matt moaned as they kissed him deeply. “Damn, that’s hot, Ty,” Dutchy heard someone breathe. The next thing he knew, Barrie was straddling him, still kissing him. He could feel Ty’s prick pressed against his abdomen. Someone else moved to press their cock into his hand, still tied to the bedpost, and he gamely curled his fingers around the warm prick, doing his best to stroke the guy with what limited movements he could make. 

Barrie was still kissing him, only pausing now and then to back off enough to tease Matt’s tough out to play before plunging down again. The air was full of sighs and grunts and wet, slapping noises. Barrie began to rut, the tip of his cock drawing a wet line up and down Dutchy’s twitching stomach. 

Matt whimpered. He was absolutely aching with need, prick straining up, wanting friction no one would give him. One guy was even pressed against his thigh, hips jerking as he tried to get off. 

Someone reached down between Matty and Ty and took Ty’s prick in hand, pressing it down, palming it, rubbing slowly up and down. 

“Jesus fuck,” someone muttered. 

“Dutchy, you are a saucy little brat, you know that?”

“He’s so tight,” the guy fucking Matty noted. “Oh, God.”

“I don’t think I ever noticed how hot he was,” someone else commented ruefully. “I could fuck him every night.” Matt felt someone card their fingers through his hair. 

“Careful there, don’t be making a play for Dutchy, or Coach will bench you all next season,” McGinn joked. 

“Bench hell, I trade the first guy makes a move on my Dutchy,” Patrick put in, and no one quite knew if he was joking. But Matty definitely heard the smile in his voice when he added, “Hey, it is good to be the king.”

Tyson’s movements sped up. He was grinding fervidly against Matt’s body. He’d broken their kiss, his mouth now hovering just above Matt’s. His hot, desperate puffs of breath mingled with Matty’s. After a moment, Matt tilted his head up and slid his tongue into Ty’s mouth, just flicking the tip of his tongue against Ty’s. 

He felt Ty’s cock pulse against his body, hot semen spurting over his stomach. 

“Holy fuck, Dutchy,” Ty breathed. Matt smiled. “Holy fuck. You are a dirty, filthy, beautiful fucking beast, you know that? Holy fuck, holy fuck.”

“He’s a good boy,” Patrick put in. 

Matt laughed breathlessly. 

“Yeah. Amazing,” Ty agreed, pecking Matt on the lips again. 

The guy fucking Matt began to speed up, and someone else began to kiss Matt. He was a little embarrassed to realize that he recognized Gabe’s tongue. How the hell, he wondered, do you get familiar with a guy’s _tongue_ , especially when you only fooled around once? “You still doing okay, Dutchy?” Gabe asked, pulling off. 

“Yeah.”

“You’re kinda red,” Gabe teased. Matty moaned as the guy fucking him began to speed up, slamming into Matt with every thrust.

“Be nice,” he panted in Gabe’s direction.

“How could I possibly be nicer than this?”

“Well, you could suck my cock,” Matt suggested. 

“Yeah? Why?”

“I really wanna get off,” Matty whimpered. He was trembling. “Please? Oh, Gabe, I am _so fucking horny_.”

Gabe laughed softly and kissed him again. “What do you say, Coach?”

Matt felt Patrick kiss forehead, then his mouth, an upside-down kiss. Patrick sucked lightly on his lower lip for a moment. “Okay, mon Coeur. My sweetheart. We let you come, okay?”

Matt nodded, relieved. There was a pause in action, then he was shifted again, just a little. The man fucking him began to speed up his pace, rough, short thrusts that made Matt cry out a little. “Oh, God,” he panted. He strained against his restraints, his whole body tense, ready. 

Then Gabe began kissing him, tongue exploring his mouth, slow and sizzlingly intimate. He kissed back, feeling weirdly shy but so damn aroused that it didn’t matter. 

He felt a hand take his cock and give it an agonizingly slow tug—Patrick, just teasing him, bringing him right to the brink. He moaned into Gabe’s mouth drawing a moan right back from the captain. 

“Oh, the two of you like that, my pretty forwards?” Patrick asked. “Is that good for you?” Again and again he stroked Matt’s cock, picking up a little speed. Matt made helpless sounds against Gabe’s tongue as he was fucked, pumped, licked, handled. Guys were petting him now, caressing his head, rubbing his shoulders. It felt like every inch of his body was being pawed at. 

“Good job, Dutchy,” someone said. 

“Yeah, you were great tonight, baby, on and off the ice.” The guy fucking him stopped, pulled out, and a moment later, Matt could feel him spurting over his thigh and ass.

“I didn’t think he could do anything better than he does hockey, but I guess I was wrong.”

“You hear that? You are a good boy, Dutchy,” Patrick said softly. 

Meanwhile, through it all, Gabe was slowly fucking his mouth with his tongue. Matty shuddered in pleasure. 

“Yeah, sweetheart, that’s it,” Talbot said, stroking his cheek. “So close, yes?” Gabe pulled away, allowing Matty to draw a ragged breath, chest heaving. 

“Oh God. Oh, please, someone. Just—I gotta— _please_ ,” he keened. 

Then he felt wet, sloppy tongues against his prick, at least two, then someone sucked one of his balls into his mouth and—

Matty cried out as the orgasm crashed through him, dozens of hands petting him. 

He lay there weakly afterward, totally spent. Gabe took the blindfold off and smoothed his hair. “Always worried about the flow, huh?” Matt said tiredly. 

Gabe patted him on the head. “Good game, Dutchy,” he said.

Matt blushed under an onslaught of head-pats, encouragement and praise. “Ha. Yeah, good game,” Tyson said. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“Yeah, you got moves,” Pauly told him as Patrick unfastened him from the bedpost. 

“You were great.” The room was absolutely a mess, naked guys and used condoms and even chairs knocked over. Tyson was lounging, languid and nude, against Max Talbot’s chest, and O’Riley was sprawled across Holden. Even Patrick Roy’s huge bed didn’t hold everyone; Cody and Brad were both standing. Someone began undoing his cuffs. 

Varly leaned over and touched his forehead to Matt’s, a sort of parody of their usual celebration. “For once everyone thank _you_ for the win, huh?” he said cheerfully. 

Matt smiled broadly. “I’d say everybody was pretty good tonight.” He looked up at Patrick adoringly, and the man grinned, leaned down and kissed him. 

“Good treat?” the man asked. 

“ _Great_ treat,” Matt replied with a contented sigh. “You always know how to give me what I want.”

There was a knock on the bedroom door. “I got the nacho cheese and the Cup!” MacKinnon announced cheerfully.

Matt looked around in horror. “Uh, how fast can you guys shimmy down the drainpipe?” 

“To hell with that,” Talbot said. “You got guest bedrooms. Me and Ty are taking one of them.” 

“But you _guys_ —”

Matt was interrupted by the creak of the bedroom door and Nate’s gasp. 

They stared at each other. Matt was sure Nate was going to wig out. Instead he looked hurt. “You didn’t invite me?”

“I didn’t want the Stanley Cup to see me naked,” Matt said in a small voice. 

After a long moment, Nick Holden shrugged. “Well, _I_ could go another round.” 

“I never even got off,” Gabe put in. 

“It’s not a team building exercise if we’re leaving people out.”

Patrick and Matt looked at each other. “It’s your orgy,” Patrick said. 

Matty had to laugh at that. “My orgy,” he repeated. He gave a shrug. “Hell, why not?” 

Nate’s face lit up. 

Matt gave Patrick a grin and a quick kiss. “So we’ll be the first to use the Stanley Cup for lube. After all, How often do you win the Stanley Cup?”

Nate hoisted it, smiling. “If this is how we celebrate, I’m planning on winning it _every_ year,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, now that I've made one bingo, I'm going to continue playing with my card. Should I write:  
> 1) Patrick/Matty body switch in which Patrick finds himself a young, speedy forward (with no experience at being a speedy forward) and Dutchy finds himself having a nervous breakdown behind the bench.  
> 2) A complete departure from my usual pairing--a competitive Gabe/Dutchy HP fusion in which Dutchy finds himself drawn to the smirky, yet handsome devil of a captain of a rival quidditch team.  
> 3) A different Gabe/Dutchy fic where winning a game leads to so much more.  
> 4) A Peter Forsberg/Gabe fic? Maybe with some time travel???  
> 5) A Gabe Landeskog/Eddie Lack fic where Robert Luongo plays matchmaker? (I dunno, I just LOVE me some Eddie Lack, the boy is yum).   
> 6) Or something else completely? The squares available are deathfic, matchmaker, indecent proposal, forbidden fruit, wingfic, marriage, fusion, unrequited love/pining, twenty-four hours to live, alternate gender norms (often used for A/B/O), body swap, virgin fic, romance novel, unexpected friendship, fake relationship, time travel, presumed dead, drunkfic, and celebratory kiss. Any thoughts?


End file.
